


Oh, baby

by a_hand_outstretched



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: (sort of), Emotional Hurt, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Infertility, Infidelity, Kendall: how can I make this awkward situation even more awkward, M/M, Much crying, My apologies to all ballerinas for this, Rava deserved better but Kendall really did try, Stewy can be a little misogynistic as a treat, rating is mostly for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_hand_outstretched/pseuds/a_hand_outstretched
Summary: Kendall and Rava struggle with infertility. Stewy puts his foot in his mouth.
Relationships: Kendall Roy/Rava Roy, Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Oh, baby

Stewy has an open box of pizza on the couch next to him. He’s eating sans plate, feet propped up on the coffee table. He must not have heard the door open, because his gaze stays glued to the television when Kendall enters the room. Kendall walks quietly across the living room until he’s standing just a few feet behind his friend. 

“Yo, Stew,” Kendall says, snapping his fingers. 

“Holy fuck!” Stewy jolts in surprise and drops his piece of pizza into his lap. He whips around to find Kendall laughing at him. “I thought you were a fucking serial killer, Ken, you shithead. Fuck!” He looks down at his lap, gingerly picking up the pizza slice. “You’re paying my dry cleaning bill.” 

“Not my fault you have the lifestyle of a teenager and the hearing of a ninety year old. Very undergrad, dude.” He gestures to the pizza box as he makes his way around the couch to sit down. 

Stewy grins in response and licks the grease off the fingers on one hand so he can extend it for a fist bump. Kendall makes a put-upon face, but he’s secretly been looking forward to this all week. A few hours of junk food and junk substances, none of which have been pre-approved by a team of overpaid specialists. He feels guilty for not trying harder to convince Rava to join them tonight, since she’s the one who actually deserves to blow off some steam, and then feels even guiltier when he realizes he’s grateful to have the time away. With Stewy to himself, he can almost convince himself that everything’s good, that life is as simple as it was five or ten years ago. He sinks into the soft couch. He reaches in for his own slice and silently promises his body a double-length workout tomorrow. He toes his shoes off and props his feet next to Stewy’s. 

“I’ve got a few G’s on the Celtics tonight,” Stewy says. “Mind if we watch the rest of the game before we head out?” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

“Beer?” 

“After this,” Kendall says, around a mouthful of cheese. He swallows. “How are you, dude? Where’s Nina?” 

Stewy shrugs. “Who fucking knows? She called me this afternoon, _screaming,_ like, there’s the source of my hearing damage, bro, it’s probably permanent. Claimed she’s pregnant and she hates my guts, she’s gonna chop my dick into tiny pieces and feed it to stray cats, etcetera, etcetera. I don’t fucking know.” He laughs, but Kendall doesn’t join him. His whole body locked up at the word “pregnant.” Stewy continues unabated. “She’ll probably be back tomorrow, but I’m not sure the pussy is worth the crazy, you know?” 

Kendall just stares at him, can’t formulate a response. It must come across as shock or concern, because Stewy clarifies, “What? It’s not like she’d keep it, she’s a goddamn ballerina.” He rolls his eyes, but a little fondness leaks into his sarcastic tone. “She gained two pounds when we were in Malta and threatened to kill herself.” 

So much for a stress-free night. Kendall wants to punch him in the fucking face. He wants to throw up. He drops his piece of pizza on the lid of the box and rubs his hands together to try and get rid of the disgusting greasy feeling. It takes everything he has not to scream. He has to force the words out slowly when he asks, “Dude. Are you really telling me this? You’re fucking telling me about your unwanted fucking pregnancy right now?” He watches the penny drop for Stewy. His face immediately clouds over with guilt. 

“Ohhhhhhhhh, shit, dude. I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I fucking forgot!” 

“You _forgot?_ Jesus. Fuck you.” Kendall shakes his head in disbelief. He has to stand up and put a few paces between them, otherwise he really might hit him. Years, fucking _years_ , he and Rava have been trying to have a baby. And Stewy knows about the entire humiliating, soul crushing ordeal. Including the miscarriage that happened _two fucking weeks ago._

“I’m an idiot, I’m sorry.” Stewy follows after him and Kendall really wishes he wouldn’t. “She pulls psycho shit like this all the time, it’s probably just bullshit.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kendall snaps, and then there’s a heavy hand on his shoulder and he deflates completely. He sways a little on his feet, enough for Stewy to bring his other hand up to his side to steady him. Kendall knows he’s about to cry and that’s embarrassing as hell but it probably doesn’t rank in the top 20 of embarrassing breakdowns he’s had in front of Stewy. He chokes out, “fuck,” then hugs him tightly, tucking his face into his shoulder, and sobs. Stewy rubs his back and keeps him from collapsing onto the floor. 

“Hey, hey, Ken. You’re fine. It’s fucking unfair and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t catch most of what Stewy’s saying to him, but he does distantly note that this might be the most times he’s ever heard him apologize. Kendall has no idea how long they stand there like that — Seconds? Minutes? Hours? — but eventually he gets enough control over his breathing that he can pull himself back from the brink of a full blown panic attack. 

Stewy’s still trying to charm him out of it, talking and joking and apologizing in a soothing voice. Kendall hears him say, “I can’t wait to pretend to like your kids,” and is startled by his own laughter in response. 

“There you go,” Stewy says, pulling back a little with a smile. He still has a hand at the back of Kendall’s head, fingers threading through his hair. 

Kendall doesn’t know if it’s muscle memory or instinct or stupidity or self-sabotage, but for some reason he leans forward and kisses Stewy on the mouth. They both freeze, stuck in an awkward eyes open, mouths closed kiss until Stewy breaks it off, turning his head slowly to the side. It’s not a rejection, Kendall knows, but worse than that: he’s put the ball in Kendall’s court. All he has to do is say the word, kiss the hinge of Stewy’s jaw, move his hand a few inches lower, drop to his knees, anything, anything at all, and Stewy will fuck him up against the penthouse windows until the sun comes up or the psycho ballerina gets home, whichever comes first. 

He looks over Stewy’s shoulder at the television. He squints at the score. Celtics are up by twelve. He counts to twelve in his head. He doesn’t move.

Stewy pats him one more time on the back and lets him go. He smiles carelessly, like none of that just happened. “Hey. How ‘bout I make it up to you? Swap for a week? You deal with Nina and I do my best to knock up your wife.” 

Kendall laughs. “You are the world’s worst friend.” 

“Am not. For real though, cheer up,” Stewy says, turning away. “I’ve got some goodies for us. Let me go get my stuff.” 

“Better not be fucking whippits again.” 

“Do _not_ pretend you’re too good for the classics.” 

...

Kendall gets home late, as expected. Rava left the lights on in the entryway and the main hallway for him, so he doesn’t have to stumble around in the dark. He peels off his outer layers of clothing as he makes his way to their bedroom, too tired to shower or change. 

He crawls into bed and curls himself around her. The movement wakes her up, but she’s not mad. Rava doesn’t get mad, not in a screaming-on-the-phone way, at least. Rava lets him get fucked up with his best friend. Rava leaves the lights on for him. He loves her so much he doesn’t know what to do with it, feels almost embarrassed by it. He kisses her. “I’m so glad you’re not a ballerina,” he says. 

“You’re drunk,” she laughs sleepily. “How was Stewy?” 

“Asshole.”

“So, the usual?” 

“Mmmm.” He snuggles into her and lies his head on her chest. She runs her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, Rav.” 

Her hand stills. “For what?” There’s suspicion in her voice now, like she knows — but there’s nothing to know, Kendall assures himself. It’s all under control. 

“About the baby. I’m sorry we can’t —” 

“You know it’s not your fault, Ken,” she cuts in. 

“It’s at least 50% my fault.” 

She sighs and rubs at her eyes. “It doesn’t help when you do this. It’ll happen or it won’t, doesn’t matter how sorry you are about it.” 

Kendall sits up abruptly. He doesn’t like when she gets all Zen about it. It sounds too much like accepting defeat. And fuck if he can’t give her the one thing in the whole fucking world she actually wants. “It’ll happen. You and I are going to have the best fucking baby in New York City. Like, award winning, Gerber Baby shit.” 

Rava laughs. “Award winning, wow. You know, just because you have more money than God doesn’t mean you get to boss him around.” 

“Pretty sure it does,” he says. His tone is playful and he’s smiling, but he needs her to understand. 

“Well, okay, but Ken, could you address your complaints to management tomorrow?” She kisses him and pulls him back down to lie next to her. “Because I am very, very, tired.” 

“I promise, Rava,” he says, serious now. 

Rava bites her lip. It’s dark enough in the bedroom that it’s hard to tell, but he thinks there might be tears in her eyes. “Don’t do that,” she says, softly. 

He cups her face in one hand and sure enough, there’s wetness at the tips of his fingers. “I promise,” he repeats. 

Rava is silent for a long while. “Okay,” she whispers, “promise accepted.”


End file.
